


Beyond the cover

by SiwgrGalon



Category: The Book of Mormon - Parker/Stone/Lopez
Genre: Connor's grandparents, Family background, Fluff, History, M/M, Meeting the Family, Roadtrip, St Patrick's day, this is indulgent okay
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-18
Updated: 2019-03-18
Packaged: 2019-11-23 08:57:49
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,045
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18149783
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SiwgrGalon/pseuds/SiwgrGalon
Summary: On meeting the members of Connor's family who haven't abandoned him, Kevin discovers there is more than meets the eye (or the ear, in this matter).





	Beyond the cover

**Author's Note:**

> Happy St Patrick's Day! I have other things I really should be working on (First Impressions, I'm so sorry, I promise I'll finish you...), but I thought I'd use the opportunity to contribute a little snippet of family behind-the-scened, beyond-the-canon life for today. 
> 
> I've kept it deliberately vague about certain details, but I hope you enjoy it nonetheless.

There’s no chance Kevin has ever been as nervous as he is right now, in this very moment, sitting next to a dozing Connor in a rental car as they drive through the leafy parts of Quincy.

‘Are you awake? We’re nearly there,’ he half-whispers, sending a short, thankful prayer to the heavens at the answering hum. The flight always messes Connor up more than Kevin, so they split the driving; on the way back home to London, he’ll get to nod off in the car, to ensure he’s sleepy enough to make it through the flight without waking up. 

‘Good. Good,’ he replies, more as a way to comfort himself than anything else. 

Kevin lets out a breath he wasn’t even aware he was holding. Keeping his eyes on the road he can’t see his partner next to him, but the soft rustling of cloth betrays movement and wakefulness. 

He doesn’t even know why it suddenly hit him, this bout of nerves, but now here he is, gripping the steering wheel and psyching himself up. 

‘Are you nervous?’ 

A teasing lilt laces through Connor’s voice in the sweetest way, like honey cutting through something sharper. It’s an intonation heard all too seldomly, but soothing nonetheless in its mellowness. 

He’ll blame it on Massachussetts, no doubt, because normally Connor sounds all Cleveland, with not a single hint towards his heritage. 

‘Maybe,’ the young man evades the question. 

The answer consists of a chuckle and a hand landing on his knee, stroking once, twice, before vanishing again. 

‘Don’t be,’ Connor says. 

‘You’ll be fine. They’re old, Kev, there’s literally no danger. At least no physical danger – I can't guarantee her sharp tongue won't hurt verbally.’ 

‘Gee, thanks, that’s reassuring,’ he shoots back, elated at teasing another little laugh out of the redhead to his right. 

‘They’re also about the only members of your family – with the exception of our generation and beyond – I’ll ever meet, because they’re the only ones who’ll accept me, and I guess I’m scared they won’t like me? Or that they’ll do a u-turn on you when they meet me and make you choose? Or that they’ll just… I don’t know, I’m scared, okay?’ 

It comes out as a single wall of words, like verbal anxiety diarrhea, Kevin gripping the wheel even tighter. 

There is silence. 

‘Pull over,’ Connor suddenly says, and in his almost feverish anxiety Kevin just obeys. With his assumptions driving him he unlocks his seatbelt and reaches for the door when a hand catches his, lacing their fingers. 

‘Hey.’ 

He turns to Connor, who looks… worried. Which isn’t helping, right now, but Kevin is trying to not be so much in his head, which also isn’t really working. It takes effort and a big swallow, plus Connor’s thumb running over the back of his hand, but he feels himself grow calmer. 

‘Listen to me,’ the redhead says, still looking at him intently. 

‘You will be absolutely okay, yeah? They won’t hate you, they won’t make me choose….’

‘But how do you know?’ 

Kevin can’t stop himself from interrupting. 

‘What if this is a trap?’ 

The smile on Connor’s face is unreadable, but something about it makes Kevin’s heartrate slow down. 

‘I know because I know my family history,’ the former distric leader says. 

‘Listen. If anyone from my family is entirely, unquestionably on our side, it’s my grandparents. Mainly because they are genuinely good people, but also because they know what it’s like to have everyone oppose their love.’ 

‘What do you mean?’ 

Fondly rolling his eyes, Connor leans in for a kiss before continuing. 

‘Okay, very brief McKinley family history,’ he says. 

‘Because if I told you this, it was in Uganda and I think Elder Price listened but then forgot.’ 

Kevin scoffs but smiles a bit bashful. 

‘Yeah, that sounds like me…’

‘It really does,’ Connor laughs. 

‘Anyways. My grandma’s from one side of the border – from County Donegal – well, born in Boston actually, but she lived with family in Ireland for a while, for reasons I never questioned. My papa is from Derry – Londonderry – which is on the other side, so Northern Ireland. Falling in love was… not ideal in that situation, but they did. And because they were young and didn’t care, and with essentially still a civil war on and their families less than pleased, they ran. Back to where she came from, except that my great grandparents – who were already Mormon – were also not really happy with her bringing home a Protestant. So they ran to Cleveland with whatever savings my nan had and they made a life for themselves. And it took decades for their families to come round, and to this day there are relatives on both sides who still won’t speak to them.’ 

Kevin listens intently, as 

‘That’s… why did his religion matter?’

‘Because he was from the Protestant side and she from the Catholic one.’ 

‘But you said your family was already Mormon,’ the young man states, raising an eyebrow. 

‘Yeah, they were,’ Connor says. 

‘See, I do listen!’ Kevin almost crows triumphantly, cherishing the smile it raises on Connor’s face.

‘You do,’ he continues. 

‘But, to finish the tale, they were also Irish, and in that conflict religion is about more than what you believe and how you practice your faith. It’s a form of political affiliation, which – we go full circle here – is why they converted into Mormons when they landed here.’ 

Kevin looks at him, sorting his thoughts for a minute. 

‘I don’t get it,’ he finally concludes, triggering another laugh. 

‘Neither do I,’ the redhead replies. 

‘But it’s incredibly brave – as we both know – and it means they’ve always understood. Plus, as the only boy, I’m kind of the favourite grandchild, so we really are in the clear. Now let’s go.’

Aftr stealing another kiss – who knows how much they’ll get to do this in the next few days – Kevin sets off again. On the dashboard, the Satnav is cheerfully announcing their arrival in mere minutes, and suddenly it all becomes real again. 

‘Are you sure we’ll be okay?’ His voice cuts through the comfortable silence. Next to him, Connor stretches slightly, various joints cracking. 

‘Yes, Kevin, I am,’ he says. 

‘I get that you’re nervous, because gosh knows I nearly threw up when I met your parents, but I promise. 100%. Just be yourself and we’ll have fun, yeah?’ 

For some reason he just knows Connor is itching to touch him, to stroke his shoulders, his neck. The other man uses it as a form of self soothing and generously extends the gesture to Kevin whenever he is stressed. 

‘Also,’ suddenly, Connor sounds rather serious and, if Kevin isn’t mistaken, a little sad. 

‘Full disclaimer here: my grandfather has some sort, some stage, of dementia. I don’t know how bad it’s gotten, I don’t know how bad it’ll be; it’s minor stuff, according to my nan, but you know what I’m like and she’s the same. Queen of understatement. He remembers things, though, or rather he doesn’t forget people yet, but that’s my incredibly selfish reason to bring you now. I hate it, but they are all that’s left of my family, and I don’t know how much longer I’ll have that, but they’ve always been there – they practically raised me, in between, when I at ballet school out here. I want you to meet them, and with us being so far away, it’s… this is maybe it. The last chance. You never know.’ 

This time it’s Kevin who reaches out to squeeze Connor’s thigh to offer comfort. He can’t imagine what the other man must feel like, but ever so often he comes out with monologues like this and it offers a glimpse into his soul. No matter how many times Kevin sees them, each one shakes him a little and each time he decides to rope Connor even deeper into his own family, to give him a home and a safety net. 

Before he can mull it over more they arrive, the McKinley house almost looming over their little, bright yellow car. 

It’s nice, Kevin thinks. Looming really isn’t the right word, considering its baby blue exterior and the large windows. 

Connor has barely knocked when the door practically flies open to reveal an elderly, white-blonde woman. 

‘Oh my goodness,’ she says, excitement clear in her voice. 

‘You made it.’ 

She enthusiastically hugs first Connor and then greets Kevin with similar warmth, although less physical contact, exclaiming ‘you must be the famed boyfriend then’. 

‘’Course we did, and yes he is,’ Connor says, not without a hint of pride.

‘Very good, very good,’ Mrs McKinley says. 

‘I’m Moira, by the way, and now come in, come in!’

‘How’s the craic, then?’ The redhead interjects as he lifts their suitcases. 

And suddenly, he sounds utterly foreign to Kevin’s ears as Cleveland-sounding Connor is replaced by a lookalike whose ’th’ turns into ’t’ more often than not and whose distinct Midwestern drawl is mixed with a softer Irish lilt. 

‘Oh, we’re all good,’ Mrs McKinley replies as she ushers them inside. 

At least that’s what Kevin thinks she says, because after this, he doesn’t understand much anymore. Much like her grandson can do, Mrs McKinley talks at a million miles an hour; only she also speaks with a thick accent Kevin has never consciously heard. 

The house is cosy. Not just a ‘there’s a heater on’ sort of toasty, but a deeply ingrained warmth that seems to radiate from everywhere. 

As he listens to Connor recount their flight, Kevin looks around, trying to find the source of heat. His eyes land on a range cooker, just as he hears a cheery ‘Dia duit’ directed at him. 

Even if he hadn’t known what to expect, Kevin is sure he would immediately have recognised the man standing in front of him, his hand stuck out in greeting, as Connor’s grandfather. They really can’t deny the family resemblance, from the striking blue eyes down to the way Mr McKinley, despite being a fair bit shorter, holds himself. The strawberry-ish blonde colour of his hair betrays where the younger McKinley probably got it from, too. 

‘Oh, sorry, I was away in my own world,’ Kevin replies, taking the proffered hand and shaking it. 

‘I’m Kevin, Connor’s… boyfriend.’ 

‘Aaah, yes, yes,’ Mr McKinley says. 

‘Tá áthas orm bualadh leat. Cén chaoi a raibh do thuras?’ 

And just like that, Kevin feels completely lost. 

‘Uhm, sorry, I…’ 

Before he can finish the sentence, Connor has appeared by his side as if by magic, his hand comfortingly lasting in the small of Kevin’s back. 

‘Ní labhraíonn sé Gaeilge, granddad,’ he interrupts, mouthing a ‘sorry’ in Kevin’s ear. 

‘He doesn’t speak Irish.’

The young man just stands there and stares, his mouth slightly open, looking between Connor and his grandfather as they strike up a conversation in a-freaking-nother language. As if the change in accent hadn’t been weird enough, this truly is like discovering a whole different person. 

This trip, the former missionary thinks, has already taught him more than he thought possible. 

‘He’s lost almost all his English,’ Mrs McKinley – Moira, Kevin’s mind provides – says on his other side. If Kevin noticeably flinches, she doesn’t dignify it with a comment. 

‘It’s the dementia. He understands English alright, but his brain and mouth just won’t form the words most of the time. He has good days, and I speak both languages, but it’s a shame almost none of our grandchildren do. Well, except one, of course.’ 

Then she turns to Kevin, taking his elbow to lead him away. Kevin looks at Connor, whose smile is so encouraging that he follows her into the kitchen. 

‘Let them reconnect,’ she says. 

‘You’ll probably have to make do without Connor for a bit. Tadgh misses him so much. We both do, truth be told, but we knew that would probably happen when he proclaimed he’d be a dancer when he was barely in school.’ 

‘He misses you, too,’ Kevin supplies, looking at Mrs McKinley and then beyond her, where his eyes land – oddly fittingly – of pictures of Connor. One of him definitely still in school, all slightly too-long limbs, braces (huh, Kevin never thought…), and embracing his parents. If Connor and his grandfather look alike, Connor and his dad could be twins. 

‘It’s the only picture of him and his parents after the whole therapy incident,’ Moira supplies. 

‘But enough of those things. I’m very happy he’s finally found a good lad like you; handsome, too, and would follow him to the end of the earth by the look of it.’

‘Would I? Maybe he’d follow me,’ Kevin cheekily replies. 

‘Well, you packed up and moved to London for him.’ A knowing look is all it takes for Kevin to realise she’s right; but he also knows it would be the same the other way around. The amount of time Connor has offered to go back to the US, to audition for companies there. 

‘But tell me more about yourself, Kevin. I’m so incredibly curious.’ 

——————————

When Kevin comes back from his shower, he is surprised to find Connor still awake and diligently stretching. It’s not that he’s lazy – far from it – but he was knackered minutes ago, so to see him in any other state than asleep is unexpected. 

And yet he crawls under the cover as soon as he catches sight of the former missionary, folding the duvet back in invitation.

‘Come spoon me,’ he says, adding a flirty wink. 

‘Maybe I want to be the small spoon,’ Kevin retorts, sticking out his tongue. 

‘Hm, maybe,’ comes the reply, all back to normal. 

‘But I can see that you have questions, and I’m okay with both, really.’ 

The redhead sighs happily as Kevin joins him in bed, pressing up against his back and slinging his arms around him. They have to leave the door open a bit – to ensure they’re not doing anything untowards, Mrs McKinley said. Connor grumbled about it, but it was this or separate beds, and neither of them was up for that. 

Silence settles like an additional blanket; Kevin basks in it for a moment or two before speaking up. 

‘I didn’t know you spoke Irish.’ 

It’s more of a statement than a question, but it sounds curious rather than accusing. 

‘Or that you had an Irish accent.’ 

‘Yeah, well,’ Connor starts and then falls silent. His hands slide up to clasp around Kevins, and he bends down to press a kiss to where they join. 

‘The short answer is, I don’t. Not really. I speak like that with my grandparents, yes, but it’s not a conscious choice. It just happens, it’s like switching a register without noticing.’ 

Kevin hums, throwing a leg over Connor’s to draw him even closer. It’s nice and toasty like this, and the other man doesn’t complain; where he rubbed his feet against each other, he simply includes Kevin which in turn makes the younger man relax. 

‘Doesn’t explain the Irish though,’ he teases. 

‘What can I say, I’m a man of hidden talents,’ Connor replies airily. 

‘Why, does it bother you?’ 

At that he turns around, looking concerned once again. Kevin reaches out with one hand to smooth his partner’s forehead. 

‘No,’ he replies, and it’s the truth. 

‘No, what bothers me is that I feel as if I didn’t take enough interest or something. That I didn’t listen, because I’m sure you must have spoken it on the phone or something. That I just assumed.’ 

‘It’s okay,’ Connor whispers. 

‘You were an idiot in Uganda, you’re much better now. And you couldn’t know, really; I haven’t used it much since I moved away, which is why it’s rusty and slow. I’d have told you, too, I just didn’t know how to bring it up; it’s part of my identity, yes, but it’s also just… coupled to these two people in my life, so bringing it up beforehand would’ve felt wrong and untrue, if you get what I mean.’ 

‘I feel like I learnt so much about you today alone,’ Kevin whispers back, their faces coming ever closer. 

‘And it’s beautiful. I never knew you were that… Irish.’ 

‘You caught yourself a proper leprechaun,’ Connor laughs quietly, so as not to wake anyone, before pressing a long, deep kiss onto Kevin’s lips. 

‘Red hair, Irish language and all. If you ask nicely I’ll even dance an Irish jig for you.’ 

‘I’d rather you speak slowly. All of you.’ Kevin’s brain is slower than his mouth, but if the delighted laugh in the darkness is anything to go by, Connor really, really doesn’t mind. 

‘Did you understand anything, or did you just nod along and hope for the best?’

‘Both, kinda,’ Kevin admits sheepisly. 

‘It got better, but then your gran just… launches into this fast patter, and I don’t know somw words and sentences are spoken so fast, by the time I’ve deciphered one she’s three further along.’ 

Another laugh, interrupted by a yawn. 

‘I’ll ask her to speak slow,’ Connor says. 

‘But first, sleep. Or I’ll loose one of my languages, too, and that’d be unfortunate for you…’ 

‘Whatever you do,’ Kevin mumbles into red hair. 

‘You’ll be grand.’ 

‘Grand,’ Connor mumbles, already half asleep. 

‘Never heard you say that one before today. Sounds like you’re fitting in.’ 

‘Well, I gotta, no?’ 

‘Nah, you could sound like the last hillbilly and they’d love you,’ Connor is starting to slur his words. 

‘Those are my granddad’s words. He thinks you hellishly handsome and very charming, and that we’re a good fit. He says you're the best person I could've picked, so that means he pretty much loves you and has adopted you into the family.'

‘Does he now?'

Kevin is met with nothing but even breathing. And just like that, his heart – which had still been on edge – settles down, curling up like a kitten next to a fire, and he drifts off, too, but not before picking up Connor’s unconsciously whispered ‘yup’. 

And there are no words for the feeling in his body, but his smile is expression enough. 

’See,’ Kevin whispers in Connor’s ear. 

‘All is well. You got your wish.’

**Author's Note:**

> I'm not sure how happy I am with this, especially with the title; some bits feel a bit rushed for me, but I think I'm okay with that. After all, Kevin is pretty overwhelmed, too, and probably can't think straight, the poor sod. 
> 
> My Irish, which was rudimental to start with, has sadly left me – this is legit everything I can get together by now... 
> 
> Anyhow, I hope you enjoyed this – and I promise, I'll finish First Impressions, and I have a few other things up my sleeve (including a fic which was been a long time in the making, but it proving decidedly hard to write as it's quite emotional). 
> 
> As usual, kudos and comments leave me elated, but what matters most is that you enjoyed reading this little, probably not-quite-so-good (or interesting) thing.


End file.
